Mercy Falls

“In this country, you can never be sure about the weather,” she replied in a leaden voice.

  “It’s the one you wore the night you planted the explosives in my Bronco.”

  “Were you looking for that, or just on a fishing expedition?”

  “Why?” Cork spit the word. “Why bring my family into it?”

  “Take your clothes off.”

  “What?”

  “Take your clothes off. I want to see if you’re wearing a wire.”

  He didn’t move.

  “Do you want to talk or not?”

  He undressed. Sport coat, shoes, socks, shirt, pants. He laid everything on a chair. When he was down to his boxers, Dina said, “That’ll do.”

  “Now tell me why,” he said.

  “I don’t know why you think I can answer that question, but maybe I can help your thinking a little, provide a dispassionate perspective. For example, it might be productive to think about the explosive itself. If I recall, it was made with a blasting cap that was dead, yes?”

  “You know it was.”

  “So it couldn’t possibly have detonated. Now, it might be that the person who put it in your Bronco was simply stupid. On the other hand, it might be that it was never intended to hurt anyone.”

  “Then why was it put there?”

  Dina picked up her glass from the nightstand and finished the Scotch with a clink of ice against the empty glass.

  “All right,” Cork said, addressing her silence, “let me do a little speculation. Let’s say the device wasn’t intended to kill anyone. What did it accomplish? It caused me to lose a lot of sleep. It certainly confused the situation. Were either of those the point? Or was it to separate me from my family, send them scurrying to Chicago? I’m thinking this because the night before the bomb was planted, Jacoby was at my house. He learned all about my family. Jenny and Northwestern, Rose and Mal in Evanston. He even knew Jenny was planning on using my Bronco the next morning. I’m thinking that a man like Jacoby believes he can manipulate anything and anyone to get what he wants. So he has someone—someone, let’s say, like you—plant a bomb—or a nonbomb—to scare me into sending my family his way so that he can be with them, comfort them when word of my demise reaches them. Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “I enjoy seeing a fanciful mind at work. Go on.”

  “That’s what the hit was about, I think. To get me out of the way because another man coveted what I have. It wasn’t Lydell Cramer who wanted me dead. It was Ben Jacoby. And he used his brother Eddie to broker the deal. Now, your part in all this is still a little uncertain. What were you supposed to do? In the event that Stone couldn’t complete the hit, were you instructed to kill him, make sure he didn’t talk?”

  “I was hired to make sure the investigation into Eddie’s death wasn’t mishandled. Period. When I came here, I didn’t know anything about Stone.”

  “Then why this?” He shook the ski mask at her.

  “You’ve overlooked something obvious. It could be that the point of the bomb—or nonbomb, as you appropriately call it—was to ensure that your family was out of harm’s way.”

  “Is that what Jacoby told you? Or did you even care, so long as he paid you enough? Out of harm’s way, sure. And my wife right into his waiting arms.”

  “Not every outcome of an action can be predicted. It seems to me that whether Jo stepped into someone’s waiting arms was entirely up to her, wasn’t it? And as for killing Stone, when I pulled that trigger, I pulled it for only one reason.”

  In the little illumination that still fell through the window, he saw anger in her face, and perhaps hurt. He almost believed her.

  “Tell me I’m wrong about Ben Jacoby,” he said.

  “It’s an interesting speculation. Do you have any substantiating evidence?”

  “He’s a thorough man, but I’m sure he’s slipped up somewhere. I’ll find out where.”

  He went to the chair and began to dress.

  Dina watched him. “What are you going to do?”

  “Let Jo know who Ben Jacoby is. Then I’m going to figure how to nail him.”

  “Be careful, Cork.”

  He pulled on his shoes, tied them, and stood up. “You’re worried about me?”

  “Your family’s safe. You need to think about yourself.”

  It took a moment for him to weigh her words and her tone. Then he understood. “He offered you the contract on me, didn’t he?”

  “If I wanted you dead, I’d have let Stone finish the job on Lamb Lake.”

  He still held the ski mask. He threw it to Dina.

  “I should have it checked for explosive residue, and I should have your luggage and your car checked, too. If I were a betting man, I’d bet we’d come up with something. But you saved my life. Consider my debt paid.”

  As soon as he returned home, Cork called Evanston. Rose answered. Her “Hello?” sounded anxious, and when she knew who it was, her voice took a serious nosedive to a bleak octave.

  “What is it?” Cork asked.

  “I was hoping you were Jo.”

  “Why?”

  “Well,” Rose said hesitantly, “she seems to be missing.”

  46

  ROSE EXPLAINED THAT they’d come back from their day in South Bend to an empty house. Jo had left a note on the kitchen table saying she was going out to buy some wine, had an errand to run, and would be back before six. On the note, she’d put the time she left, five-ten. She still hadn’t returned. There was also a message waiting on Rose’s voice mail, from Ben Jacoby, left at five-fifteen, apologizing to Jo for having to cancel out. Something important had come up. He was sorry and promised to be in touch.

  Jacoby again, Cork thought.

  “Cancel out on what?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, Cork.”

  “Was she going to meet Jacoby?” he asked.

  “She didn’t say a word to me about it.”

  “Did you try her cell phone?”

  “Yes. She doesn’t answer.”

  “How about Jacoby? Did you call him?”

  “We don’t have his number,” Rose said. “It was blocked on our caller ID, and when we tried directory assistance, they told us it’s unlisted.”

  “I have it,” Cork told her. “I’ll call.”

  “Oh, good. Let me know what you find out.”

  In his wallet, he had the card Jacoby had given him when the man came to Aurora after Eddie’s murder. Only his business number was printed on it, but on the back Jacoby had written the number for his cell phone. Cork punched it in.

  The phone rang at the other end. Jacoby didn’t answer. The recorded voice said the customer was not answering calls at this time but a message could be left. Cork left one telling Jacoby to call, it was urgent, and he gave his cell phone number.

  After a minute or two of hard, desperate thinking, he called the Quetico Inn and asked to be connected with Dina Willner. She didn’t answer. He called the front desk.

  Dick Granger told him Dina had just gone into the dining room. Should he page her?

  “No. Just make sure she doesn’t leave before I get there.”

  He called Rose and told her he’d had no luck with Jacoby, but he knew someone who might have a better idea how to get in touch with him. He’d let Rose know.

  “How’re the kids?” he asked before he hung up.

  “Mal and I are downplaying this, but if we don’t find her soon they’ll know something’s wrong.”

  “Do what you can, Rose. And thanks.”

  He found Dina seated near the fireplace, a glass of red wine in front of her, a thick New York strip bleeding onto her plate.

  “This is a pretty good steak,” she said, “and if you don’t mind, I’d just as soon enjoy it alone.”

  “You told me my family’s safe. You lied.”

  “Oh?”

  “My wife’s missing. She went to meet Jacoby and hasn’t come back.”

  “Does she have a cell phone?”

  “Sh
e’s not answering it.”

  “What about Ben?”

  “No answer there, either.”

  “Did you try his townhouse?”

  “I don’t have that number.”

  With an exaggerated effort, she reached into her purse and brought out a pen and a small notepad on which she wrote two phone numbers. “The first number is his townhouse, the second is his home in Winnetka.”

  “Thank you.”

  Cork stepped away from the table and tried the numbers. He didn’t get an answer at either of them, but he left messages saying basically “Where the hell is Jo?” He turned back and found Dina watching him. Her steak was getting cold.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “I’m going down there.”

  “How?”

  “Driving, I guess.”

  “Long drive alone.”

  “At this point, it’ll be just as fast as trying to get a flight out of Duluth or the Twin Cities.”

  “How much sleep have you had?”

  “Thanks for your help,” he said grudgingly, and turned to leave.

  “Wait.” She wiped her mouth carefully with her napkin. “I’ll go with you.”

  “I don’t need—”

  “You try driving to Chicago alone right now and you’ll be a danger to yourself and everyone else on the road.” She stood up. “You know what I’m saying is true. If you want to get to Chicago in one piece, let me help.”

  The weight on him felt enormous. Worry, sleeplessness, a long drive in the night with only his fear and uncertainty for company. He knew she was right, but didn’t trust her motives.

  “Look,” she said. “Whether you believe it or not, I’ve always been on your side. And think about it. If I’m riding shotgun, am I going to shoot you while you’re going seventy?”

  He gave in because her logic was sound, and he knew he needed help to get to Chicago.

  “Give me a few minutes to change and I’ll meet you in the lobby,” she said.

  While she was gone, he called Rose and told her he was coming. She didn’t try to argue him out of it. He instructed her to call the area hospitals in the meantime.

  He phoned Ed Larson at home and filled him in.

  “You really think there’s reason to be concerned, Cork?”

  On a normal day, maybe not, but Cork couldn’t remember the last day his life felt normal.

  “I’m going, Ed. That’s all there is to it.”

  “We’ll hold down the fort here. Keep me posted.”

  Dina came down dressed for business—black jeans, black sweater, black sneakers, and a black windbreaker. A large black purse hung over one shoulder.

  “Let’s do it,” she said, and hit the door ahead of him.

  Cork glanced at his watch. It was almost nine o’clock. He figured if the roads stayed dry, if a cop didn’t pull him over for speeding, if he didn’t hit a deer, he’d be in Evanston in just under eight hours.

  A lot of ifs.

  They didn’t talk much at first. Cork kept hoping his cell phone would chirp any minute and it would be Rose with word that Jo was fine and there was a good explanation for her disappearance. What that explanation would be, he couldn’t imagine. Maybe her cell phone battery had died, although that was not like her. Why didn’t Jacoby answer his phones?

  “You have connections on the Evanston police force?” he asked Dina.

  They were outside Duluth, heading over the bridge on the interstate into Superior, Wisconsin.

  “I have connections on every police force.”

  “How about calling to check out accidents with injuries.” He waited a beat, then added, “Or fatalities.”

  She talked to a guy she called Red, shot the breeze for a minute, then ran her request past him. She gave him Jo’s name, the car make and license plate number, which Cork fed to her. It didn’t take but a minute for Red to respond. Nothing involving Jo or even an unidentified victim. So far, it had been a quiet night in Evanston.

  “How about Winnetka?” Cork said when she’d completed the call. “You know the cops there?”

  “Couple.”

  “Think you can get them to send a patrol to Ben Jacoby’s place?”

  “What’ll I tell them?”

  “That some fuckhead rich bastard thinks he owns the universe and everyone in it.”

  “What’ll I tell them?”

  Cork let out a breath that momentarily fogged the windshield in front of him. “That there’s an emergency, and Ms. O’Connor needs to be contacted and we believe she’s at the Jacobys’, who aren’t answering their phone. You can embellish as you see fit.”

  She did a nice job of embellishing and got a promise that a patrol car would swing by. It was, apparently, a quiet night in Winnetka, too.

  “Today, after we came out of the Boundary Waters, did you give Jacoby an update?” Cork asked.

  “That’s part of what he pays me for.”

  “So at this point, he knows everything?”

  “Everything we know.”

  “Is there anything you know that I don’t?”

  “Nothing that would help right now.”

  “Do you think Jacoby knows anything that would help right now?”

  “Ben Jacoby always knows more than he tells.”

  She was quiet, staring out the window as the empty streets of Superior slid by. It was an old port town on the harbor, and its glory days were a memory. In the daylight, everything about the place seemed gray. At night, it looked even worse.

  “When I told him about the Fineday girl’s recollection of the night Eddie was murdered, something happened. I could hear it in his voice.” Dina seemed to be addressing the door window, or her own faint reflection in it.

  “What did you hear?”

  “Like lock tumblers clicking into place. I think he put something together.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. But he told me I was done in Aurora.”

  “Except for killing me, if you wanted the contract?”

  In her seat, she pivoted toward him angrily. “Just who the hell have you been talking to about me?”

  “A reliable source.”

  “Let me guess. One of my colleagues in the security business.”

  “Someone I trust.”

  “Who repeated shit he knows nothing about.”

  Cork swerved to miss a black cat with glowing green eyes that had frozen in the headlights. “So that was nothing but a lucky shot on Lamb Lake?”

  “I train for that kind of shot. That doesn’t mean I enjoy it.”

  “And Jacoby didn’t offer you a contract on me?”

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  They took US 53 south out of Superior and in a while were skirting the Brule River State Forest. There wasn’t much traffic and the road seemed to tunnel through the trees into endless black.

  On the seat beside him, Cork’s cell phone bleated. He picked it up. Rose was calling.

  “We’ve tried all the hospitals anywhere near here, Cork, but nobody will tell us anything. They say legally they can’t. But they’re also saying that if Jo had been admitted and they were looking for nearest relatives, you’d have been notified. So I guess that’s one way of saying she’s not there.”

  “Okay, Rose. That’s good. Evanston Police Department said they have no report of her being involved in an accident. And we’ve got someone checking out Ben Jacoby’s house in Winnetka right now.”

  “What if she’s not there?”

  “Then we’ll keep looking.”

  “The kids are scared, Cork.”

  “I don’t blame them.”

  “Shouldn’t we notify the police that she’s missing?”

  “They won’t do anything, Rose. Not for at least twenty-four hours. Adults disappear all the time for their own private reasons.” It was a line he’d delivered many times as a cop to a worried husband or wife. The truth was, most people showed up, came back after they’d had time to think things over. “D
o what you can for the kids, okay, Rose? And thanks. If you hear anything—”

  “I know.”

  Cork put the phone down beside him.

  “Nothing?” Dina asked.

  “Nothing.” Cork swung around a slow-moving Voyager, the speedometer at eighty when he pulled back into the lane. The broken white lines came at him like tracer bullets from a machine gun. “You think I’m wrong about Jacoby wanting my wife?”

  “I’ve never met your wife.” She laid her head against the seat back. “But I know that people kill for less compelling reasons than love.”

  “A man like Jacoby, does he even understand love?”

  “We most desire what we can’t have.”

  “Desire’s not love.”

  “No,” she said. “It isn’t.”

  Her phone rang. She answered and listened. She said thank you and hung up.

  “Winnetka PD. A couple of uniforms stopped by the Jacoby residence on Sheridan Avenue. Phillip Jacoby answered the door. That’s Ben’s son.”

  “I know,” Cork said.

  “He told them Jo wasn’t there, that he hasn’t seen her at all and he’s been home all evening.”

  “Was Ben Jacoby there?”

  “The cops talked to Phillip, that’s all I know.”

  “Does he lie?”

  “I don’t know anyone who doesn’t. Do you?”

  In Eau Claire, they stopped for gas and Cork drove through a McDonald’s because he hadn’t eaten all day. Dina took the wheel and guided them to I-94, which would take them to Chicago. Cork ate, barely tasting the food. All he could think of was Jo. Where the hell was she, and was she safe?

  And when that became almost unbearable, he thought about Jacoby and wondered what Dina had said that made him want her off the investigation.

  47

  THEY TOOK TURNS driving, nodding off briefly when they weren’t behind the wheel. Once, Cork jerked awake with a terrified suck of air.

  “Bad dream?” Dina said, shifting her attention momentarily from the road ahead. “You have a lot of those?”

  “Tell me someone who doesn’t.” Cork rubbed his eyes and directed her to pull off at the next exit. He was ready to drive.

  He wondered what was true about Dina Willner. How much of her had Jacoby bought? Was she really along to keep him from sleeping at the wheel or mostly to keep him in her sight for Jacoby? He was tired, knew that his judgment was off, and decided if he couldn’t trust himself it was best to trust nothing.